I wasn’t going to get very graphic, but I’m so worn down and exhausted by all of this that I think you should know what I’m going through. Don’t read on if you have a queesy stomach.
I was born without four permanent teeth. Yes, dentally retarded. I got four teeth implants done. I’ve already talked about this. The most painful part has been the skin graft (that’s a cool word) taken from the roof of my mouth. The original surgery was on May 27th. By May 31st, the swelling was gone, but I was still bleeding. Bleeding a lot. I was spitting out mouthfuls of blood every time I ate or drank. On June 1st after my first day in a new department at work I got home and started bleeding for a half hour straight. The roof of my mouth just wouldn’t clot. It was pretty miserable. I called my oral surgeon’s house number and he said to come in Thursday afternoon (they’re closed Wednesday and Friday). The bleeding wasn’t as bad on Wednesday, so I wasn’t as concerned. I tried eating some bread for lunch on Thursday at work, and the bleeding worsened again. I left work early, spent a half hour sopping up blood in the bathroom, and went to my orthodontist. I had already scheduled a retainer check there the previous week. Retainers still wouldn’t fit on my swollen mouth. I went right to my oral surgeon and they brought me back into a room.
This is the thing I don’t like about any doctor’s office. I understand that doctors are busy, but why do they say, “okay, we’re ready for you,” then prep you and let you wait in the chair for 15 minutes?? Anyway, it was getting warm. I’m not sure if it’s scary or reassuring to see that they have a defillibrator right next to the chair. The 40-something year old nurse kept on playing with my hair and flirting with me in a very unrestrained manner. I didn’t really mind, seeing as I get this from soccer moms every weekend. Finally, the doctor came in. He looked at the uncontrolled bleeding, sighed, and said that I should have come in sooner so that he wouldn’t have had to stay this late in the day. He started working on closing up my wounds. He began by completely numbing the roof of my mouth, which includes numbing most of my face. The nurse kept on pinching my hand while he stuck the needles in me. I closed my eyes, because I don’t look at needles before or after they’re injected. I then heard, “stick your thumb in there.” That’s not a very nice thing to hear while your face is completely numb. The doctor had the nurse holding gauze on the roof of my mouth, trying to clot the bleeding. Hema Toma and clotting were words that were being thrown around to make me feel uneducated. Anyway, he ripped open the flap of skin that was covering the area that wasn’t clotting, used an electric cauterizing iron to stop the blood, and then stitched everything back together. There was lots of pain involved. They tied down my arm with some kind of grounding band so I didn’t get chocked.
After the doctor finished, I was pretty worn out and “pale” according to the nurses. The crazy one gave me a silly band and some sweetened iced tea and kept flirting with me while I recovered. She kept trying to convince me to let her drive me home, but I didn’t want to deal with leaving my car there and getting someone else to drive me there the next morning and all that. So, I recovered and rested for half an hour more and finally they let me drive home. My room was still not unpacked (I need to hire some elves). I just took some percoset and passed out on my bed. I called my new supervisor and told him what had happened and that I didn’t know if I could come in the next morning. Then I woke up. It was 8am. I called my supervisor again and told him of the massive pain and bleeding that I was still suffering from, so I didn’t go in to work. I felt bad because it was only my 4th day in his department. I don’t like to leave bad first impressions. Anyway. The best part of the story is that from what I remember of the emergency resorative surgery, there was lots of good music on the radio. Paul McCartney singing Blackbird, James Taylor singing Sweet Baby James, and sweet Lisa Marie (the nurse) humming along while holding her thumb on the roof of my mouth (“she liked it when I bit her”). What. A. Day.
So, for the past week and a half I’ve only been eating pudding, yogurt, shakes, and a very small amount of overcooked pasta. Consider yourself lucky.